


someone reaching back for me

by k0skareeves



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Jon is a bodyguard, Mentions of Blood, Pining, Protectiveness, Sansa is his client
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26021386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k0skareeves/pseuds/k0skareeves
Summary: Tumblr prompt: "Darling, this was just as hard."
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 19
Kudos: 140





	someone reaching back for me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onhersleeve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onhersleeve/gifts).



> Hi everyone! This is to the lovely Lys, who was kind enough to request me this prompt from a ts lyrics post on tumblr. Hope you enjoy this, darling!
> 
> WARNING: there's tending to a bullet wound in this fic, nothing too graphic but blood is mentioned.
> 
> also i'm not a doctor nor have i ever seen a gunshot wound before so keep that in mind when reading :p
> 
> title is from holding out for a hero by bonnie tyler lol

"This is gonna sting."

They're sitting at the small table, the yellow ceiling light shining a strange glow over Sansa's fair skin. Sansa’s yellow dress is covered in blood stains, her right sleeve teared up all the way to her shoulder, a horizontal gash on her arm. Jon notices that her skin looks paler than usual, her lips being far from their normal shade of pink, dark circles under her eyes noticeable even through her makeup. It’s a sign she may have lost more blood than he thought, but he'll worry about that in a minute. Right now, he's holding a small bottle of rubbing alcohol, his free hand positioned below Sansa’s wound, keeping her arm in place.

“I can take it.”

He looks up at her, their eyes meeting. Sansa gives him a small smile. There’s tears marks on her cheeks, and dry blood too, smeared across her forehead and chin. Her hands are covered in it, wrapped into fists on her lap, slightly trembling. He knows she’s trying to be brave for his sake, and he wants to tell her she doesn’t have to be. It’s okay to cry, to be scared. Hells, Jon was scared himself during all of it, and he still is, although it has more to do with the fact that he’ll cause her pain than anything else now that they’re inside the safehouse. Still, he returns the smile, and tightens his grip on her arm.

“Okay, here I go.”

He tilts the bottle, the alcohol dripping over the wound and down Sansa’s arm. The clear liquid turns pink the more it mixes with her blood. She’s shaking, her fists clenching tighter, a long, painful groan escaping her closed lips. Jon wants to tell her to scream if she needs to, but he’s having trouble speaking. He tries focusing on the task of cleaning the gash, yet the sound of her pained screams at the gala are still fresh in his memory, and he feels himself shiver at the memory of her terrified face as he laid on top of her, his body a shield, while she shoke in pain and her blood drenched through his suit jacket. He’s done this a dozen times before, tending to bullet wounds, in far less ideal conditions, and this should be simpler given that it’s a graze, yet it’s the hurt he sees on Sansa’s eyes that’s making it more difficult. If anyone was supposed to get shot, it should be him. He’s the bodyguard, he’s the one meant to get hurt. His one job is to protect her and the open wound on her arm proves that he failed.

She shivers again, eyes shut tight. The gash looks clean enough, and he lowers the bottle, his left hand still holding her arm in place. Sansa releases a shaky breath and he notices the skin from her lips has broken from her biting on them so hard. A few drops of blood are forming, sadly bringing some color to her mouth again. Jon wants to dab it away with a cloth, or even his thumb, and tell her to be more careful. Instead, he uses his free hand to grab the clean gauze inside the first aid kit on the table. He tears the package open with his teeth, and removes the gauze, using both hands to gently wrap it around her wound. A lonely tear rolls down Sansa’s cheek, and she whines for just a moment, but then her body relaxes, and Jon relaxes along with her, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Once the bandage is safely secured, he drops his hands on the table, sagging against his chair.

They stay in silence for a moment, until Sansa opens her eyes, looking first at him and then at her arm. She moves it slightly, wincing a little from discomfort, but the smile she gives him is reassuring.

“That wasn’t so bad.”

He chuckles. “You don’t have to lie to me, you know?”

“Fine,” she says, rolling her eyes. “It was awful. I never want to do it again. But at least you didn’t have to give me any stitches. I think I might’ve fainted, and then we’d be in deep trouble.”

“You have a bullet wound on your arm and you’re scared of a needle?”

“It’s called an irrational fear for a reason.”

She’s smiling and it’s hard not to smile back, even while covered in blood, even after being shot at and driving away at full speed, even without knowing what the hell happened at the gala and if they’re actually safe here at her father’s safehouse. When Sansa smiles at him, especially this one smile, the one where it seems like he’s her most favorite person in the whole world, Jon thinks that it’s nearly impossible for him to focus on anything else other than her. She reaches forward, taking his hands, her skin cold under his palms.  _ She lost more blood than I thought. I need to get some food in her and then it’s bedtime for at least eight hours. _ His eyes drop to their intertwined fingers, to the tender swipe of her thumb against his knuckles. She’s trying to comfort him, when she’s the one who got hurt and that only makes him feel more guilty about not being able to protect her like he should. It's silly, he knows. A lot worse could've happened. He took her out in one piece, he drove them to safety, he did his job. Except that's the thing. Sansa isn't just a job to him, just a client. She's so much more. 

He should've been able to do more.

"You’re shaking."

He is. Now that they’re safe, now that the adrenaline is leaving his body, now that he’s done caring for her wound, anxiety is slowly starting to overcome him. He still has no idea who shot at them at the gala, no idea if the rest of her family made it to safety too, if his guys survived or if he’ll have to be attending a funeral in the next few days. He takes a deep breath, releases it through his mouth, tries to clear his head. "I was nervous. I didn’t want to mess up and cause you anymore pain." Jon tells her, and it’s the truth, or at least a part of it. There’s no reason to share his concerns with her just yet, no reason to make them both anxious. She chuckles, a sad, low sound, but her tone is playful when she speaks, still trying to be brave for his sake. 

"I'm sure you had to endure much harder things at the Wall than patching up a graze wound from a helpless rich brat."

He doesn't like her tone, doesn't like that she calls herself helpless. Jon lifts his eyes to her face, sees the fear still lingering there even if she's playing brave, sees the pain and the worry beneath the sky blues and thinks that she’s probably seeing a version of it in his storm greys. 

"Darling, this was just as hard."

He shouldn't have called her that, he knows, shouldn’t have told her what he’s feeling. She’s the client, he’s the bodyguard. He’s not actually meant to feel any type of way about her, and he’s certainly not meant to get this emotional if she’s hurt. He’s aware of that, aware that it’s a mistake to get this involved, and that he should at least do a better job at pretending not to be. Sansa's lips part, a question already formed in her eyes. Jon speaks before she has the chance to ask him, before he's forced to say more than he's allowed to, more than he's ready to tell her.

"I need to get you some antibiotics.”

A little crease appears between her brows and he wants to smooth it with his thumb. “In the morning,” she tells him. “I don’t want you out there alone tonight. It’s not safe.”

Jon grips her hands tighter. He knows she doesn’t want to be alone, and he doesn’t want to leave her either.  _ Fuck pretending. _ He brings her hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles, hoping to make her understand that he won't ever let anything happen to her again, hoping that she'll believe that he cares for her and that he'll do everything in his power to keep her safe, even if he can’t actually say the words, even if he can’t tell her how he really feels.

“In the morning, then.” He tells her, mouth moving against her skin, and he’s pleased to see a faint blush on her cheeks while she nods at him, smiling a small smile that still manages to make his heart skip a beat.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!
> 
> comments are always appreciated <3
> 
> come find me on tumblr if you feel like it!
> 
> Xxxxxxx


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